Good Stone
by ErinRua
Summary: A collection of my Drabbles, 100 words each, wee tales for the telling. See if your favorite character may be here. :-)


**GOOD STONE**

**_Drabbles written for the ongoing Birthday Drabbles Challenge at Henneth Annûn_**

**_Whereby words are given as gifts_**

**By ErinRua**

**BOYS TO MEN - _For Dwimmerlaik_**

We do not truly see when boys become men. It is not in the bones grown suddenly long, or the hands grown awkward with new-found strength.

"You cannot send me away, Father!" he cries. "The White City needs all of us, quick lads as well as strong men. Let me stand as you do, as Gondor needs us to!"

My son, my son. I see manhood first in his clear grey eyes, gazing fiercely up into my own. His shoulders are under my hands, the soft skin of his brow briefly under my lips.

"Aye, Bergil. Stand with me."

**

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IN THE KING'S HANDS - _For Dwimmerlaik_ **

I look at my hands, a soldier's hands, and I feel the unseen blood upon them. I knew not the man whom I struck down, in my terror for Lord Faramir's life. But though driven perforce by flame and madness, I am no less a murderer. Now my lord lingers in a dread twilight of the soul, and the minutes pass like ashes drifting.

But here, someone kneels at my lord's side. Grey-cloaked and careworn, yet the Light of the West is in his eyes. Athelas, kingsfoil; he speaks his demands as a lord of men and my good lad flies on swift feet. I give death; I do not banish it, and so I sit and watch brave Faramir fade.

Strange it is, to watch this man bend close, as if Faramir were brother or near kin. He calls to some far place that our mortal eyes do not see, and my heart sits as a stone in my breast.

Hark, what is this? Bergil has returned with six dry leaves, and our strange healer takes them in his hand. Oh, what magic is this now? The very air I breathe is charged and changed. It is as if, through the open window, comes the air of the first Spring to break upon a world new-born. I dream of hay meadows and roses with my eyes wide open, and then my lord Faramir speaks.

Beloved face! His grey eyes open, and kindled in them is perfect peace.

"My lord," he whispers. "You called me. I come. What does the king command?"

Bergil is beside me, crowded close against my side. Through my joyful tears, I hear him:

"Look Father: there is Hope after all!"

**

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BLOSSOMS - _For Avon and Lady Aranel_**

"The city blooms, Legolas," Elessar said, inhaling the fragrances of spring.

Beside him, a tall elf gazed contentedly on the changes peace had wrought. "Yes. Leaf and stone together. Look, the morning glories are halfway up the wall."

Bell-shaped blossoms nodded in jeweled hues beneath the smiling sun. Legolas faced Elessar, his own smile widening.

"Nor is the city all that blooms. The Evenstar has never looked more radiant."

Astonishment wiped the king's face momentarily blank. "How did you - we have told no one!"

"I see it in her eyes, my friend." Legolas' hand clasped Elessar's shoulder. "And in yours."

**

* * *

GOOD STONE - _For Marta_**

"Good stone," said Gimli, stamping a heavy foot. "It needed but a craftsman's touch. Now rainwater will flow only in the gutters, no more to splash at every step."

"Aye," Legolas replied, but his eyes looked elsewhere. "And listen! It is well the elves brought finches; they add such cheer to the gardens."

"Finches," snorted Gimli. "Already they make spots on the curbs."

Legolas smiled. Gimli paused and stroked his beard.

"Could those flowers be trained onto that statue's shoulder?"

"They could."

"Then let us have it so."

They walked on together smiling, for Minas Tirith wore her garlands gladly.

**

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THE WHOLE OF THE TALE - _For Aramel_**

Forty-two, Gimli claimed, and cursed the orc whose iron collar had notched his ax. Forty-two and he had bested an elven warrior's skill, albeit by only one. Yet in the clear light of dawn, amidst battle's wrack, elf and dwarf greeted each other in joy. Strange perhaps they seemed to watching eyes, unlikely and unmatched. One stood lithe as a tall white birch and the other blunt as stone.

"Glad am I to see you on your legs!" Legolas cried. T'was the greeting of warrior-to-warrior.

Nonetheless, in their faces shone the whole of the tale: the greeting of brother-to-brother.

**

* * *

THE GARDEN OF SAMWISE - _For RubyGamgee_**

Life's a bit like gardening, you see. Everything starts from the beginning. First, a seed and soil, then a sprout, and you watch careful as anything so it grows right. But it don't always; sometimes birds or frost or other things destroy the sprout and you have to start over again.

But that's just it. You start over. There's always something to start from. There's always at least one seed. You plant it, and you go on. And if someone else can't, why, you plant for them. You tend their garden. Everyone needs a bit of garden for their own.

**

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CIRCLE OF FRIENDSHIP **_-** For HA from me**_

He sits by the hearth with his pipe in his teeth, eyes smiling. I wonder how often he will have time for that, now. Strider the king. We have come so far that sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever know the whole tale.

There's Pip laughing with Legolas and Gimli, and Frodo smiling. Sam, bless him, looks almost asleep with his full belly. Gandalf is somehow more the same, but ever so different, at once. Just like Aragorn. Our king. Our friend. Maybe that's our tale.

Neither foe nor Shadow nor trappings of greatness can sunder the bonds of friendship.

_The hobbits still remained in Minas Tirith, with Legolas and Gimli; for Aragorn was loth for the Fellowship to be dissolved. - ROTK- "The Steward and The King." _

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**TO RECONCILE - _For Maya on my Birthday_**

Did he ever know her, truly? He had pledged his life, if need be his death, to keep his people safe. Yet he had been blind to the cold shadows consuming his own sister. Horror still lurked in near memory, and tears of joy, regret. She came not to Cormallen, and in silence, he grieved.

Éowyn, my sister, how do I make amends?

Yet he sees her now, eyes shining like summer skies. "Do you love him?"

"Yes. Oh, Éomer, yes!"

He holds her in his arms, warm, alive. She loves, and though the healing is not his, he rejoices.

**

* * *

THE MEASURE OF AN ELF - _For Lady Aranel on my Birthday_**

On Caradhras he first learned the mettle of that brave elven heart.

At Helm's Deep, their fair archer shot his quiver empty. When death came surging in a black, bitter rain, he stood fast and returned the enemy's arrows.

He alone had no fear of the Paths of the Dead; at the Black Gates, he faltered never.

Yet when a king looks back on the journey of his making, it is oft the least treasures he recalls. Bright in memory stands forever a tall figure against the stars, singing into the night. Singing to ease the sleep of mortal souls.

**

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BEYOND THE DOOR -_For Alawa_**

Evil things move in these darkening days. We feel them pressing near, those grim shades that fill the paths behind us. I know, however, my death lies not within this mountain, but beyond.

He comes now in his silent tread, my comfort and my doom, steadfast as the stones that swallow us. His warm hand settles on my shoulder, and his eyes are bright as stars.

"Fear no darkness, Halbarad."

"I shall fear nothing, lord, while you lead us."

For I have seen beyond Shadow to a noble white tree standing triumphant in bloom. For me, death holds no terrors.

**

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PARTNERSHIP - _For Sigil Galen_**

I watch with gentle envy panging my heart, for Men will never know such perfect union of horse and rider. Arod moves to no governance but the soft voice of an elf: their thoughts must whisper as one, I guess.

Ah, Legolas has spied my notice. He speaks while stroking Arod's mane.

"Have I thanked you, lord, for such a princely gift?"

I smile into his bright elven eyes. "Your thanks is spoken with ax and bow," I reply. "Arod's former master would be honored."

As I am honored to find such friends in these dark days of the sword.

**

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DRAGON WISDOM - _For Anglachel_**

Four steps down, turn left. He always knows where to find his wayward son. Scents of leather, paper enfold him as he moves between the shelves.

In a window's light, a boy's head rises at his step. "Hello, Father."

"Faramir. What do you read, my son?"

"Of dragons, lord." He lifts his book, eyes somber. "I think the danger of power may be when it becomes a weapon, not a shield."

"Oh?"

"Yes. A weapon may defend, but a shield preserves. Are we not the shield of Gondor?"

His answer is to swiftly bend, and kiss his son's dark head.

**

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BROTHERS NEARLY - _For Nessime_**

He saw them together but rarely, dark son of Gondor and golden scion of Rohan. Bold laughter, confident tread, a clasp of brotherly hands; a stripling lad watched in silent admiration his cousin and their noble guest. Heroes walked the living land, and he saw kinship in their long, panther strides.

Likely Boromir did not much heed the coltish awestruck youth who followed ever close at Théodred's heels. But the boy grew to warrior and man, and he noted them well, king's heir and steward's son. He noted, and within the turn of a single moon, he mourned them both.

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End file.
